Us and Them
by oneiromancer242
Summary: Erik must face the idea that though he protects him fiercely, he is still hurting his son. Magda offers him a way to fix that.
1. Chapter 1

Why had he stopped, when victory was within his grasp? When with just one more push, another exertion that would throw the molten metal core of the planet into greater revolt, he could have been rid of humanity forever? No more taking, no more pain, no more enemies, a world fit for him to live in at last. Not Charles' voice in his mind, for sure – the telepath had a certain amount of sway with him, but not enough to throw water on the boiling fires of this rage, not enough influence to push through the agony that was fueling this assault.

What had stopped him? A scream.

A sound that was full of outrage, and horror, and agony. The noise a gazelle might make when a lion had it caught in its jaws. Another that followed, wrenched up from somewhere full of astonished hurt. He'd looked and seen the newly-risen god holding Raven aloft with one hand, but he had barely seen her – the woman who had been his closest confidante suddenly seeming irrelevant in comparison to the little bundle at Apocalypse's feet. Anger that ran him through like a red-hot blade – why did he think of Nina, in that moment? In motion before he had even paused for thought.

 _I'm here for my family too…_

 _My Mom knew a guy who could do that once…_

It made sense, suddenly why that arrogant little boy had been so insistently pushing on his force-field, why he had followed him to this battle. Why, despite him being a tiny, vulnerable creature with no combat experience, he had joined the force that was trying to stop him.

The boy had tried so hard to be brave as they had finally loaded everyone back onto the jet to return home. Ashy-white with the effort of holding in his pain, left arm gripping his broken right to immobilise it against his shuddering body. Eyes squeezed tightly shut. There was blood in his hair, an awful claret-black against the silver, and he had bitten his lip open in the struggle to keep from crying. Everybody else got morphine before Hank dressed their injuries, but the doctor was unwilling to give the boy any, not knowing how his particular mutation would react to it.

"Hold him" Hank had growled at him, "And don't let go"

Erik could see the jagged end of a bone as Hank had quickly cut away the boy's pants leg, fresh whimpers of strangled agony when he probed the wound delicately. Erik gripped as hard as he could round the boy's ribcage, feeling short, fast breaths and a hammering heartbeat. He was so delicate then, Erik could have crushed him if he had held any tighter. Despite exhaustion he could feel the boy trying to escape his grip, locking eyes with Hank as he prepared to set the bone.

"Take a deep breath" Hank told him. The boy was too afraid to hear him. A scream that rattled the windows of the jet and echoed shrilly in Erik's ears as Hank pulled and the jagged end of bone popped back into place. He had let go of the tears then, no longer able to hold them back, sobbing in agony against Erik's shoulder as he had gathered him up in his arms. His fault, Erik had thought, all this pain and terror and danger was his fault. At last the boy had exhausted himself with tears, raised his head a little, and Erik had asked the most stupid, futile question possible

"Are you alright?"

Huge brown eyes bloodshot and puffy looking up at him. He thought of Nina again. Sorrow stabbed at him. The boy's lips were trembling, he looked about ten instead of mid-twenties

"I want my Mom," he'd whimpered, "And I wanna go home"

Then he was violently sick, and thankfully following that he had passed out.

Erik had kept him pressed against him for the entire journey back, wrapped in a blanket. He weighed virtually nothing, hardly stirred on Erik's lap for hours. Winced a little when Hank had set an IV line in the back of his hand, certain the boy was in shock and would need to replenish his fluids and energy, and that had been Erik's fault too. He held the little bundle as tightly as he dared, rocked with him slightly, he could feel the boy's ribs moving under the blanket, still breathing too fast even in sleep. He was only a child, and Erik had let him come to harm.

Since that day he'd sworn that no harm would ever come to him again whilst Erik was around. That had proven to be a harder task than he'd thought, given Peter's propensity to get himself into trouble. Once recovered he had been able to see the young man in him, but the memory of that poor hurt child he had cradled in his arms was too much to override. Nobody was ever going to hurt him that way again.

Then Charles had told him how he, Erik, was causing the boy pain. How hard Peter wished that though they were in so many ways abnormal, his family could be normal in at least one way. How his flippant attitude concealed the longing for his mother and father not to fight over him any more. The first time he had tried to fix that, it hadn't gone well, and he had tried instead to be a good father and to forget the woman he could not get along with even for his beloved only son.

Then Magda had called one day, told him she was coming to Westchester, and asked him to meet her.


	2. Chapter 2

Magda didn't drink. Not in any conscious way, and not on principle, she just never found that she had the time. A glass of wine every now and again, that was it - definitely not shots of vodka taken neat in a quiet bar not too far from the Academy. She didn't drink, but there was no way she was going to face this sober.

She told herself that this was different to the last time. That back then, she hadn't realized how strong Peter could be, how much she needed to give him a little freedom to spread his wings. Last time, she had felt the need to defend him, hadn't realized until he had started to soar without her even noticing that he could fight his own battles now, visiting home one weekend and suddenly seeming like an adult. They spoken often on the 'phone, sometimes every day, and she could hear how happy he was in his voice, tell that Professor Xavier's training was building such strength into him and teaching him so much about himself. He was becoming genuinely formidable now, filling her with a pride she couldn't put into words.

Before he'd gone to the Academy, Magda's style of coping had been mainly damage limitation. Though he was harmless to others, a model big brother and a faithful son, gentle and kind and everything she could ever have hoped for, he was often an enormous danger to himself. She'd thought he was a handful even before his X gene had kicked in, always up to mischief and always getting into trouble - though he was far too fast to get caught often even then. She'd always forgiven him, done her best to be the mother he deserved, relied a lot on Wanda to keep her twin brother in line when she couldn't be there, and tried to look after a boy who was getting stranger the older he got.

Most vividly, she remembered the time her foolishness had put him in the hospital. Putting her foot down about all the sugar had seemed the right thing to do at the time - there was a lot of talk about how it made kids hyperactive, and she'd decided to try to calm her son down by banning him from the numerous between-meals snacks he was getting. Taken his getting tired for a rebound symptom that would disappear once he adjusted, and his misery for moping about not getting his Twinkies. Not been overly concerned when he'd complained that his muscles hurt, that he felt sick, thought he was playing up to try to get her to relent. Then the school had rung her and told her that they had called an ambulance for him. By the time she had got there he'd been admitted, and a scared-looking nurse had tried to keep her out of the room without success. She'd never seen anybody look so ill as her poor son did at that moment. He'd been twelve then, lanky and awkward with the couple of growth spurts he'd already been through, nothing of him really, and he'd been in the middle of a violent seizure just at the moment she had walked in. Days later they had allowed him home, he'd barely been able to stand up for days more, feeling queasy and faint whenever he tried to move. He'd been very close to death from hypoglycaemic shock, and that had been all Magda's fault.

Over the years of his adolescence he'd ended up in the hospital a couple more times the same way, but Magda had never denied him whatever junk he wanted since that first time. She recalled the years she'd spent dragging him around specialists, trying to figure out why he wasn't filling out at all despite eating enough for three boys his age, why he was so anxious all the time, why his heart hammered over so fast, why he couldn't concentrate on anything, why it was so easy for him to collapse if his blood sugar went too low. One doctor after another had simply shaken their heads and shrugged in the end, sending Peter home feeling like a freak and a failure and that had been all Magda's fault too. Eventually he refused to go any more, then refused to go anywhere. Magda had tried to call it teenage angst, tried to rationalize that Peter would probably start feeling better about himself once his hormones balanced out, and refrained from taking him to any more doctors. She hadn't been able to help him with the intense feelings of worthlessness and hopelessness that had only gotten worse once his mutation really surfaced, had tried to tell herself that all teens went through something like this, and he would be alright. Eventually he learned to put a brave face on and not tell her, and that had *definitely* been her fault.

She'd let him down so many times over the years, and every single one of them hurt. In trying to protect him, she had inadvertently allowed him to become insular and depressed, only realizing quite how bad it had been when he went away to the Academy and started getting better. She'd hurt him in the worst possible way - by giving up, and not knowing what to do anymore, letting him amuse himself and pretend that he really was the arrogant little pain he acted. She'd failed him too much - it was time now to not fail him again, and try to give him what he wanted most right now.

Even if it meant trying to get on with his father.

She pushed a second glass over in Erik's direction as he approached, took a seat without a word. Sometimes when he was in a particularly pensive mood Magda could see his father in Peter, though these days that pensiveness was fortunately rare. She raised her glass to him, drank it down.

 _"Nostrovia"_ she said, "Thank you for coming"

He drank, refilled their glasses, raised an eyebrow in question at her. In truth he could have looked all night at her, the years had been very kind even if the stress of raising their children had taken a heavy toll on her, and there was still a strong resemblance to the woman he had loved in her face now. He didn't show that pleasure though, took care to simply regard her passively, ready for the onslaught to commence. To his surprise, she had said nothing, only reached into her bag to pull out a little blue leather case. It was smooth with frequent handling, a little battered around the edges from being carried around. She placed it carefully on the table in front of him and challenged him with a look.

"I'm not here to fight with you"

"Then why are you here, Magda?"

"For Peter" she answered firmly, "He wants us not to fight, I intend to oblige him"

"He always did get whatever he wanted out of you, didn't he?"

"There you go again, accusing me of spoiling him." she laughed, not unkindly, poured them both another drink, "Does he really seem spoiled to you?"

Erik drank. Considered. In fact, he really didn't. He'd had a far better deal than Erik had as a child of course, but that was hardly a difficult feat. He had never stopped to genuinely think about it before, but Peter must have got his easy-going and gentle nature from somewhere, and he certainly didn't act like a boy used to having his every whim bowed to.

"I don't deny that I took the best care of him that I could," she went on, her tone softened, "but that was never an easy task, Erik. Not because he was difficult, at least not on purpose. Because it was a fight to get him to ask for anything from me. This - you and I talking like adults - is the only thing he has ever begged me for"


	3. Chapter 3

"He doesn't strike me as the begging type" Erik smiled a little, but it was a sharp smile full of doubt. That was true – he'd never seen Peter beg for anything. Give people the wide-eyed look certainly, but never actually grovel. Not even when Apocalypse had been holding him for that woman to deliver a killing blow, not even when he'd just had two limbs broken and was sure he was facing death, he had never begged.

"He's not. It took me a long time to realise how strong he must have been to deal with the life I put him through. I was a terrible mother, Erik. At least Wanda was just a pain – it was different for him. I spent so many years thinking he needed help, thinking I was doing the right thing. Trying to cure him of being Peter"

She could see the anger on Erik's face then, knew what he was thinking. She knew him enough now to understand what that statement could be taken to mean.

"Not to cure him of being a Mutant" she said more gently, "I didn't know about that. I just knew that I had a very sick son and that nothing I did was making him feel better"

"So what could I have done?" Erik drank, fixed her with a look, "What difference would it have made if I'd been there? I'm not a doctor"

"You would have known he didn't need one" Magda told him firmly, paused and swirled the vodka around in her glass for a long minute before she looked back up at him and asked, "Please tell me – before you went away, did you know?"

"Know what?"

"That I was carrying your child"

A pause stretched between them, miles wide and oceans deep, until at last Erik had looked up at her and admitted

"I had no idea. I would never have left if I had known"

It was hard for Erik to admit when he was wrong, harder still to admit that his mistakes had the impact they did on other's lives. Magda had been waiting a long time for that answer, but now that she had it something seemed to have lifted between them. She even smiled sadly at him, and he was shocked when she reached across the table and her fingers trailed lightly over the back of one of his hands for a moment. Her hands were callused, hard-working mother's hands that had given a lot of love and care over the years. It had been the first time she had ever touched him since an open-handed slap across the face months ago.

"Thank you," she looked almost as if tears were standing in her eyes, "That's all I wanted, Erik. I just wanted to know that you didn't leave us intentionally"

She reached for the little case on the table, and unfasted the worn clasp, opening it and laying it right-side up for him to see. At last he realised the significance of it as he looked down to see an old, grainy picture with faded colours of two little bundles wrapped in blankets, held by a much younger Madga with exhausted eyes and a bright smile he had not seen on her face for years. He could see the pride in her face, the gentle ghost of that smile even now.

"Is that…?"

"Wanda and Peter, yes" she smiled, "He's a little older, eight minutes. She was a little more shy to make her entrance but I guess he wanted to get on out here as soon as he could"

She offered him the photographs, watched him turn through them. Two inseparable little children with large brown eyes and scraped knees, in shorts and t-shirts and with ice-cream on their clothes. Two faces smeared in Hallowe'en make-up trying to look ferocious for the camera and succeeding only in looking heartbreakingly adorable. Two little children sat cross-legged in a muddy patch of the garden, caught in the moment of the girl raising a fistful of mud to throw at her laughing, already smothered brother. Two gawky older kids with their arms around one another, holding up certificates with obvious pride.

"That's from a sports gala at school," Magda explained, "Wanda used to swim, she was pretty good, she took a bronze. Peter of course took the gold in track. I'd never seen him so happy before. That was the year they were eleven"

Paging through another few photographs, Erik's fond smile fell a little. Whilst Wanda still beamed for the camera as she grew taller and began to develop into a young woman, red hair in all sorts of ridiculous styles, her brother more often seemed to be looking away from the lens. He'd been a normal-looking handsome infant in the earlier pictures, carefree and indistinguishable from any other boy his age aside from the feathery hair that had slowly turned from a white blonde into that strange mercury colour around when he was seven. In these later pictures, there was a sadness that Erik could not name, pausing on a single shot – for once Peter by himself, caught half-turned to the camera. That wide cheeky grin was there of course, but his dark eyes looked troubled and shadowy. After that one, there were a few shots of Wanda alone or with her mother, but no more of his son.

"He stopped letting me take pictures of him." Magda said quietly, "That was around the time he started to be really…. different from other people"

"But Wanda – "

"Was different too, yes," she interrupted, "But she always understood herself better. Wanda dealt with her own problems, Peter didn't even know what was going on – and neither did I."

Erik flicked back to that shot of his young son alone. Somehow he didn't look well in that picture, more than the troubled darkness there was something strained and delicate about him, legs too long for his height at that age, uncomfortably skinny, arms hugged tightly around himself as if trying to conceal something.

"He looks so frightened" Erik said quietly, unable to look up at her.

"He was terrified. So was I. I thought I was going to lose him. It didn't all start at once you see – the speeding. There was a year or so before that when we both just thought he was sick somehow. He hardly slept, he was so restless, felt cold all the time, no matter what I did no amount of food was ever enough, it hurt him to keep still, and my god, his emotions were such a mess…." she swallowed another shot, took a breath, "for a while he even used to hurt himself, anything to get some relief from that wound-up feeling. When he finally did start showing the real extent of his speed it was almost a relief. At least he could run off all that energy. But it didn't make feeling different any easier"

Erik couldn't reply. Couldn't look up, knew from the thick sound of her voice that she really was crying now. His own mutation had come on in such a rush, provoked by such stress, that he had never imagined anybody else's manifested another way. But of course, with a happy little suburban life and a sister and mother who treasured him, Peter had never come to that crisis point that would have kicked his X gene into full action immediately. Instead he'd had to suffer it coming on 'naturally' - developing into the phenomenal speedster he was now in awkward stages. He'd never imagined it would have been so hard, perhaps even thought that Peter had been born zooming around the way he did. Not that he'd had to cope with his mind and body slowly developing at different rates. He'd been aching to speed before his body had been strong enough to take the strain, leaving him confused and sick.

"If he'd had you around, it might have helped him come to terms with being different" Magda was telling him, wiping her eyes, "it might not have scared him so much, if he'd had another Mutant who wasn't struggling with their own powers around to help him. Wanda tried, but nobody could really placate him back then"

"Did he.. get better?" Erik asked, hoped, prayed.

"Physically, yes. Once the speed kicked in he settled into his body a bit, put on a little weight eventually, sleeping got easier. But mentally? Well..."

She didn't have to tell Erik what a hot mess their son was. He'd been awful when they had first met, badgering him with rapid-fire questions, distractible and irritated and always seeming to need to be somewhere else. After a long while of Charles helping him he was really improved, but the idea that he had been worse before that? That genuinely chilled Erik with the idea of how much he must have suffered.

"I'm so sorry" he said quietly, "If I had known - "

"You would have helped. I know." she paused, pulled the photograph album back to her side of the table, gave him a strange smile. "He still needs that help now, Erik. I'm trusting you to give it to him"

For a moment she let silence fall, that odd bitter smile still on her lips as she studied that last picture of her boy.

"You know something? This is one of my favourite pictures of Peter now" she looked up at his questioning frown, "because I can look at it and see how far he's come since then. You've been a part of that too, I'm sorry it took me so long to accept it."

He raised his glass to her. They drank without rancour or bickering for the rest of the evening.


	4. Chapter 4

**This chapter, and quite possibly the next, come with a trigger warning for self-harm. Stay safe, be kind to yourself, and ask for help when you need it dear readers.**

Returning to the Mansion, slightly drunk but in a better mood than he had been for some time, Erik had been overcome with the odd need to go give his son a hug. It wasn't an unusual sensation, but inhibition and the apparent need to teach him strength usually held him back. This wasn't one of those times, however, and he'd made his way down to the common room seeking Peter, only to find Kurt and Scott both flopped out on the sofa with their pants unbuttoned, looking a little sick, and being informed that his son had already gone to bed. Erik snickered uncharacteristically at the two unwell-looking boys – _well, that's what you get for going to an all-you-can-eat buffet with my boy when you have a competitive streak_ , he thought to himself.

As told, Peter was dead to the world when Erik gently opened the door of his room. He took a moment to enjoy the sight – it was so rare that Peter honestly looked relaxed, even when he napped on the sofa his feet would pedal as though he was still running in his sleep, but at that moment he was sprawled out on his back, still except for the gentle motion of breath, one arm hanging off the side of the bed, the other resting across his stomach. Hair ruffled and sticking up, mouth slightly open, it was amazing how young he looked – like a toddler put to bed after playing himself to exhaustion. Erik knew he should close the door, weave his way up to his own room, leave Peter to sleep off whatever excess had left him so sedated, but instead he had crept into the room to pull the blanket a little further up over his son's sleeping body. Reached to stroke his hair down a little, turned away before he'd heard a movement and a sleepy voice saying

"Dad? Whatcha doin'?"

"Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you"

"M'awake…" the boy muttered, flopping onto his side, looking anything but, "You want somethin'?"

He should go. Peter would drop off again soon enough. He should just leave him be and not bother him any longer – there would be time in the morning for everything. He didn't go, but instead returned to perch on the edge of the bed. Laid a hand gently on Peter's shoulder to stop him trying to struggle into sitting up.

"Nothing important," Erik told him, "Just to see you"

 _To remind myself you're strong now, that I don't have to worry about you so much. To be glad that you got through what you have, and that you're here now. To say I'm sorry for not being there when you needed me._ Erik didn't say.

Peter wrinkled his nose at him, frowned quizzically. It looked plain adorable with his sleep-heavy eyes. Erik thought of those baby pictures and smiled

"Dadneto, have you been drinking?" the boy asked trying to sound serious, prevented by the sleep-slur, sounding a little tipsy himself truth be told. Erik hesitated, opted for the truth.

"Yes… I met up with your mother"

That was it. Peter was wide-awake now, shrugging Erik's restraining hand away and sitting up, reaching to flick on the bedside lamp and giving him a look that Erik couldn't quite interpret. Partly terrified, partly expectant, all astonished. Blinking in the light, eyes huge under the mop of tousled silver.

"And?" the boy demanded, "You didn't fight did you?"

"We talked a lot, but we didn't fight, no." he paused, "She told me about how you were, when you were younger"

Peter snorted at that, rolled his eyes. That mask of casual indifference was slipping back on rapidly, getting himself settled propped against the pillows and folding his hands over his stomach, the picture of relaxed and nonchalant.

"She tell you what a pain in the ass I was? I guess I haven't changed too much, right?"

"She told me you were very sick" Erik said simply. That knocked Peter's indifference a little, and he dropped his eyes as if ashamed, "Why didn't you ever tell me how hard it was for you?"

The boy shrugged, drew one hand up to stroke at his arm where Erik had never noticed the silvery traces of very old scars before. How had he even scarred? They must have got there before his astonishing healing rate had fully developed. Now he would have them for life.

"Guess I didn't want you to think I was any more pathetic than I am," he mumbled, fingers restlessly tracing the little lines in his forearm. Erik stilled their movement with a hand, bringing Peter's eyes back to his.

"I would have understood, Peter" he told him earnestly, "And if I had known how much you were struggling, then I would have been there for you. For your mother. I'm sorry I wasn't. But I'm here now"

To his surprise, Peter didn't shrug or snort or make that face he made when he was trying to be cool, but gently bit at his underlip for a second before flinging his arms around his father's shoulders. For a moment, Erik thought of that day on the jet when Peter had wept against his shirt from the agony of his broken leg, then squeezed him tightly against his body. He felt different there now, no traces of the visible ribs, still slender but with hard muscle lending him less of an air of fragility. He could feel Peter's breath on his neck, feather-soft hair tickling his face. Finally his grip had loosened and he released him, sitting back against the pillows.

"Are you two gonna try and get on now?" he asked in a small voice, "I mean I don't want you to get married or anything, just to quit squabbling over me. I'm not a kid anymore, I just wanted you to get along"

Erik nodded. He couldn't stop looking at those thin scars, wondering what pain it would have taken to drive him to create them.

"We'll do our best" he said. At last the smile had returned. Erik could hardly see the delicate boy from the photograph in it, but knew that he was there underneath the cheery bravado.

"Good," Peter told him. He yawned widely, stretching, "You should go to bed, dude. You're gonna feel like crap in the morning. Trust me, I know vodka"

Erik couldn't even be annoyed that this stripling was deigning to give him advice, and only smiled gently and tucked the covers back around him as he settled down.

"Peter, will you talk to me tomorrow? Properly I mean – about how things were? Or to Charles. I'm… worried. I never knew how bad things got"

"Sure, sure…" he sounded sleepy again now, flicking the lamp back off, "just not right now, K? Blue Moon do the most amazing buffet, I think I'm food-drunk"

"Yes, I ran into Scott and Kurt. They didn't look very well at all"

Peter chuckled, patted his belly in a satisfied manner, closed his eyes again

"Those two are such wimps, man" he yawned again, "they didn't even get asked to pay twice"

Erik chuckled back at him, left him in peace, just before he closed the door he heard Peter's voice again, on the verge of sleep

"Hey Dad? Thanks for this. It means a lot"

Erik smiled at him though he couldn't see it, nodded once, went to close the door.

"Goodnight, Peter" he whispered. But the boy had already fallen back to sleep.


	5. Chapter 5

TRIGGER WARNINGS ALL OVER THIS CHAPTER. COVERED IN THEM.

Dressing the following morning, Peter couldn't help but sit for just a minute examining the thin silver lines in his forearm that he forgot about most of the time. They were barely noticeable unless you knew what you were looking for, virtually invisible against the pallor of his skin. He hated them all the same though. Wished they'd come at an age when his mutant healing would have dealt with them before they got a chance to settle into permanence. Even the jagged rip in the skin of his leg where his bone had been sticking out was gone within months of the injury, he never even wore a bruise for longer than a couple of days, his ruthlessly efficient body getting rid of scar tissue long before it would stick for good. Then again, he considered, if he'd had his full healing capacity then, he probably never would have made those marks in the first place.

Fetching his favourite leather jacket and slipping it on to hide the scars that he was suddenly very conscious of, he'd made his way downstairs, as usual the only one up, still alone in the dining hall when he'd got back from his morning run and halfway through his third bowl of cereal before anyone else had surfaced. Scott gave him a disgusted look as he sat down and poured himself a glass of juice. It really was pretty impressive how me managed to look grossed out even behind those red shades.

"You'll get fat one of these days" he said. Peter grinned, gave him a wink

"I don't think I even can, dude. Not that I'm complaining"

Scott huffed at him. He still felt sick, vowing he'd never go out to eat with Peter again. Over the last little while of training with him he'd got to know the speedster enough that he no longer found him incredibly irritating, though he had to question the wisdom of joining him for breakfast. The guy had probably already been up for hours, and he could be a little much first thing in the morning. Thankfully just at that moment he was too occupied with moving on to toast (honestly who could eat marshmallow Fluff on toast at this time?) to bother Scott too much. In fact, it was even sort of useful having him there, catching the glass of juice as Scott had knocked against it before it had even got close to falling.

"Thanks," he smiled, "Up to much today?"

It being Saturday, there were no classes apart from the optional extras that Peter was most certainly not going to attend – it was hard enough to sit through the mandatory classes, he wasn't about to willingly put himself through more of it. In fact, Scott wouldn't have been doing so either if Jean hadn't been such a swot.

"Nah, not much" another slice of toast gone in seconds, "hitting the gym in a bit, Angela wants to go out, got a bunch of assignments that I should do, probably clean my room, go for a run later, got my check-up with Hank hence the Breakfast of Champions, he'll wanna see I'm keeping my Freshman 15 on, really should get my hair cut, apart from that I'm not busy"

Scott gave him an incredulous smile. Peter's idea of 'not busy' sounded exhausting. He blinked and Peter had disappeared, returning a moment later with a tray full of the biggest cooked breakfast Scott had ever seen. He felt even sicker just at the sight. Thankfully with how quickly Peter threw his food down he didn't have long to tolerate it before the boy was sat back in his chair.

"Oh, and I need to spend some quality Dad Time," Scott followed his eyes to where Erik had entered the room and a little shiver went down his spine. Whilst he had gotten used to the occasional presence around the halls, Scott couldn't quite forget all the trouble Erik had caused. He tried to follow the Professor's example and be forgiving, tried to treat him with respect as his friend's father, but the guy still creeped him out. As he came a little closer Scott noted with some confusion that his eyes looked a little bloodshot, and he'd cut himself shaving this morning – not the impeccably groomed Magneto Scott was used to. Peter looked terribly amused at something, standing to greet his father and fixing him with an earnest look.

"You know what's great for hangovers?" he asked, "Pancakes"

"You have literally just finished breakfast"

"We'll walk, I'll make room, c'mon I know a great place, they roast their own coffee too apparently so you should be glad I have such excellent taste in eateries because you really look like you need caffeine right now" he had taken Erik's arm, steering him to the door, a little nod at Scott as they left, "Also Hank says that bananas and maple syrup cure hangovers and I'm not sure if that's true but I do know that both are great on pancakes, so really you're following medical advice by coming with me, and …"

His voice trailed off as Scott watched them go, feeling a certain amount of sympathy for Erik at that moment. Peter was hard enough to handle without a hangover, with one he must be totally unbearable. Scott made a mental note to take the boy out and get him thoroughly hammered some time, show him what it was like when people talked too much first thing. Then again, knowing Peter he probably wouldn't even suffer for it, and that would really annoy Scott. He crossed the item off his mental list and tried to face a slice of dry toast.

Erik was indeed profoundly glad that Peter knew this place. The coffee was fresh and strong, and there weren't too many people in at this time in the morning, rendering it quiet and peaceful. Instead of chairs there were long, comfortable leather sofas, on one of which his son was currently lounging having devoured a stack of pancakes that was probably bigger round the edge than his waist.

"Is Mom still in town?" he asked, settling a little more comfortably, "D'you think we could all meet up? That'd be pretty cool"

"It's a little soon for that. But yes she is, she said she'd call you this afternoon"

The boy looked a little thoughtful suddenly, and Erik watched him in silence, sipping his espresso gratefully. At least his head was clearing a bit now, enough to be patient whilst Peter came round to talking on his own terms.

"What did she tell you last night?" he asked, "about me, I mean?"

"Just that it was difficult for you growing up. I didn't know your mutation had come on so slowly, it must have been quite hard on you"

"Yeah, well…" Peter sighed, thought about fronting and not telling Erik too much, "It kinda sucked"

That didn't even scratch the surface, he knew, but it was a start. He lay back, folded his hands behind his head, tried to look comfortable.

"All the doctors were the worst bit. They were all over, and we had to drive forever to get there, I hated being cooped up in the car – well, I still do, but you know that. It was worse then though… a lot worse. And none of them knew what they were doing"

Erik understood that at least. Hank was an excellent physician who was highly skilled at adapting his treatments to the confusing and unique physiologies he dealt with. An ordinary doctor, even a specialist, would have been nowhere near that skilled. Erik considered it lucky that none of them had actually harmed Peter with their attempts at treatment.

"They used to give me pills all the time. All kinds – to bring my blood pressure down, to sedate me, to try to slow my heart up, to make me less antsy, to help the muscle cramps, it felt like I was taking hundreds sometimes"

"Did any of them work?"

"Sure, if by work you mean made me worse" he smiled grimly, "Most of the time I couldn't even keep them down, which I guess was lucky. Dr McCoy says lowering my blood pressure could give me a stroke"

Since coming to the Mansion, Peter understood a lot better that altered bodies like his were pretty good at protecting themselves. It was why he disliked the smell of coffee, why he'd almost always thrown up the tablets intended to fix his mutant physiology, and why he craved the worst possible food, knowing he needed the sugar. Back then though, it had been terrifying, nobody knowing why he was the way he was, nothing helping to change it.

"Lucky for you that your body knows better," Erik said, echoing his thoughts. Peter made a dubious noise, hiked his eyebrows at his father.

"My body had no damn idea what it was doing, dude," he told him, "I used to scare myself to death. Because my muscles were trying to get strong enough to speed, I was hungry all the freakin' time, but other bits of me were lagging behind and I physically couldn't consume enough calories. You've no idea how confusing it is feeling hungry when you can't eat another thing, took me years for eating not to be a chore. I was tired constantly, everything hurt, but I couldn't sleep – and believe me, Hank's Little Blue Helpers are the only tranquilisers that have ever even tickled me. As for the pain? Forget painkillers, they did nothing, I just had to put up."

Erik noticed that he was open enough about the physical trials of development, but suspiciously silent on how it had all made him feel. He already knew from Magda that the psychological impact had been if anything worse, but didn't quite know how to broach it with him. Thankfully, Peter had got himself on a roll by now, and went on.

"It drove me crazy" he muttered, "Like, literally bugshit crazy. That's why…"

He took a deep breath, then another. Shook his head as though he'd changed his mind about going on. Then squeezed his eyes shut and saying carefully, so as not to trip over his words

"That's when I got those scars. It… helped. Sometimes. The pain kind of focussed me a bit. Stopped everything from rushing around in my head for a little while. I just felt.. so *boiling* y'know? Like there was all this stuff inside me, and it kinda helped to …. Let it out"

He was rubbing at his arms without knowing that he did so. Erik leaned across, took his hands. He was shaking.

"Wanda caught me one time. She cried, and she did a lot of yelling. I never did it again after that and eventually I stopped wanting to. Mom took me to a shrink after Wanda told her what I was doing. I didn't even bother trying to take *his* pills. Few months after that the speed kicked in properly, which was a lot better. But.."

"But you were still you" Erik offered. At last Peter looked up at him, offered him a sad smile

"Yeah." He said simply, "No cure for that I guess"

Erik was so glad that he was nothing like him. So relieved that he had not been able to turn that boiling feeling outward and hurt others with it. So aggrieved that he had instead turned it on himself. So sorry he had not been around to be the one to catch him, so pleased that he had not been – he would have done far worse than yell or drag him to a psychiatrist. He let silence fall between them for a long time, before he finally said.

"I recall a certain young nuisance screaming at you not to change. I feel quite the same. If I can ever help you then please ask, but you don't need to be cured of yourself. You are perfect just the way you are"

"That's nice, but it's sickening. Go write for Hallmark or something" Despite himself, Erik laughed at that. As far as defence mechanisms went, Peter's snarky humour was better than most. "Seriously though? Thanks. I need to hear it sometimes. And hey, better late than never, right?"

"But better never late" Erik rejoined.

"Dude, I'm just glad you're here now. And that you're talking to Mom. Sure, my life sucked, but it sucks a lot less now and some of that is thanks to you. I'm never, ever gonna say this when anyone else is there to hear it 'cos I think you'd go all kooky if I did, but I love you Dadneto. Don't you dare walk away from us again"

Erik smiled, gave Peter a hard but terribly fond look

"You sound just like your mother."


	6. Chapter 6

**SO MANY TRIGGER WARNINGS IT'S NOT EVEN FUNNY.**

 **Seriously you guys, stay safe and just don't read it if you're feeling a little wobbly.**

Hank seriously considered using the full extent of his strength sometimes. He really did. Then he thought about the fact he'd be the one setting that broken arm and held it back, gritting his teeth. It was like getting a cuff on an octopus with the way the boy fidgeted.

"Will you _sit still_ " he growled. Peter obliged, for about half a second

"I'm sorry, I hate all this crap. Can't you use the automatic thingie?"

"It won't handle your readings. Now be quiet, I'm trying to listen"

With difficulty, Hank finally managed to get a decent blood pressure reading, truthfully he hated using the aneroid sphygmomanometer that he'd recalibrated specifically for Peter too, it took far too long and required far too much patience for it to ever be easy for the boy. Nobody made a fuss about their monthly check-ups the way he did. Hank wondered if he'd had a horrible childhood doctor, to be so unwilling to set foot in the infirmary. Finally getting a good reading of 330/120 (enough that a human would be dead with their eyes popped out, Hank thought, but totally healthy for Peter) he released the boy from the cuff and sighed impatiently as he was immediately on the other side of the room.

"Is that it? Are you done now? I've got stuff to do dude, I can't hang around here all day with you poking me around, you know"

"Peter," Hank sighed again, "Scales"

The boy made a face like Hank had just asked him to chew live wasps in tinfoil.

"Do we have to?" he whined, "Really?"

"It's part of a full assessment, it'll only take a moment, come on"

"Fine" Peter pouted, dragging his feet all the way back across the room, "But no lectures, no extra shakes, definitely none of your supplements, and no nagging. Okay?"

"Okay," Hank agreed. Slightly amused at the boy huffing at him one more time and staring at the ceiling as he stepped on. He'd have thought Peter was the last person who'd care about his weight, but the boy had turned out to hate finding out exactly how light he was. He was slightly better about it now, and Hank had learned fast not to remark that there were heavier ten-year-olds at the Academy. These days Hank just kept an eye on him to make sure he was keeping on the ten pounds of extra muscle he'd put on since coming to the school, and wouldn't be ending up in the infirmary any time soon.

"Done – see? Nothing to worry about, you're doing fine"

"I could have told you that" Peter huffed, "Without you mauling me for the last however long"

Hank kept his patience somehow. Smiled in a strained looking way, went to record his readings. Waited for Peter to start badgering him about going. To his surprise, the boy only stood and shoved hands into pockets, staring at the floor. Hank knew that look, and turned back concerned

"Is there something else, Peter? Something bothering you?"

"Not really, just… I'm sorry I'm a pain" he said, "I really hate being weighed, Mom used to have to weigh me every day and record it for the doctor I was seeing, and he never had anything nice to say to me. Also I just really hate doctors, no offense"

"None taken"

"Which is why it's kinda weird for me to ask, but do you… uh. Well maybe you *are*, uhm… can you maybe refer me to a…"

"Peter. If there's some sort of problem you're embarrassed about I assure you I can take care of it" Hank soothed, internally thinking _oh no, don't tell me he's got an STD or something, Charles will murder me…_ "Spit it out"

"Canyoumaybereccommmendmeashrink?" He babbled, looked up at Hank's perplexed face, took a deep breath and tried again, "I think I need someone to talk to. Do you know a good psychiatrist?"

Hank was dumbfounded. Though he knew that Peter could be over-emotional, a touch out of control, and perhaps even slightly crazed at times, he had put all of that down to his mutation and never been concerned. After all, what good was moving at the speed of sound if you couldn't also think that fast? That was bound to make a person a little odd, compared to the rest of us. And Peter always seemed to be having fun, seemed to be enjoying the feats he was capable of, he got on with the others in the Mansion even if he drove his tutors mad, why on earth would he want to talk to a psychiatrist?

"Has something happened?" Hank asked, concerned. Peter gave him a pitying look

"Nothing much. My absent Dad is an international terrorist who's suddenly decided to compete for Father Of The Year, my Mom spent my childhood thinking I was going to die, living in the world is like waiting for an old guy to finish at the ATM, and I spent pretty much the entire last ten years of my life in my room by myself, but yeah apart from that, nothing"

"Oh…." Hank said. And because he couldn't think of anything better, he said it again, "Oh."

"So do you know a shrink, or do I have to find one myself? Because honestly it would be a lot easier if it was someone who already knows about Mutants a bit and won't be too hard on me… Actually…" a strange look had passed over Peter's face as if a lightbulb had suddenly gone on, "Don't worry about it, I think I know just the guy"

With that, he was gone, leaving Hank standing wondering if he should let someone know or allow the boy to sort things out for himself.

It had not been until a session of sparring with Jubilation in the Mansion gym that Peter had realised that maybe he wasn't all that much different to how he'd been as a kid. Jubilation was slow, and she hit like a girl (unsurprisingly) but she was great to have in the ring when he wanted to spend some time thinking. He would have done so alone on a long run, but the last time he'd got really deep in thought whilst running he'd ended up in Canada before he realised what he was doing. Though with time, the full strength of his mutation, and definitely having enrolled at the Academy he felt a lot less of a loser than he had done, he'd realised after talking to his father that actually he'd just pushed a lot of stuff into the dark and not thought about it. He pictured his mind as having a little closet in the back, with the door straining from everything he'd thrown in there to try to forget about. He was a little worried that door wasn't going to hold, and that one day the hinges would bust and leave all that mess all over the floor of his brain again.

It wasn't so many years ago that he'd seriously considered the idea of just running away and not stopping. It seemed the easiest way to deal with everything, if he headed out someplace remote then by the time he was too exhausted to run any more, there wouldn't be anybody about to get him to a hospital and deal with his rock-bottom blood sugar. He'd been told enough times that he could die if he pushed himself too far, it seemed like the best solution. His Mom wouldn't have to worry anymore and could devote her time more to his baby sister, Wanda wouldn't have to check up on him all the time and could get on with her own life, and he wouldn't have to live with the way things were. He hadn't felt that way in a long time now, but he'd realised that the thought was still there, buried somewhere in that closet amongst all the other junk he'd locked away.

And there was that weird phantom itch on his arms, like the old scars were tingling. As if thinking even a little about the stuff he'd buried was opening them up again. Then the weirdest thought that maybe if he *did* open them up, the tingling sensation would go away. He still remembered how to take a pencil sharpener apart and get the little blade out, clean it carefully with antiseptic, he spent enough time in doctor's offices without giving himself infected wounds. Maybe just a little? It might relieve that feeling of everything coming back. At that point, easily ducking Jubilation's swings, he'd tried to think about what his mother would say – she wouldn't want him to be a big hero about this, pretend he didn't have any troubles and speed on through his life with occasional pauses to break down completely. She'd want him to be strong, and that meant doing something about that feeling. Something a lot more productive than putting a blade to his own skin.

He had a decent life now, he thought. His Mom and Dad weren't at each other's throats, Wanda and Lorna had grown up and gone on to do great things, he'd found a place where what made him different was valued instead of reviled, and most of the time he was pretty contented. There was even a girl who seemed able to put up with him, which he'd seriously never thought possible. Now wasn't the time to let the hinges on that closet burst, he wasn't in any sort of mood to deal with the mess. Much easier to get someone to help him unpack it and see what he wanted to keep and what could be put out for the trash.

Jubilation had hit him straight in the face at that point, taking advantage of his distraction to land a lucky blow. Laughing at him kindly and helping him back to his feet. There were too many good people in his life now to mess it all up and let them down. Time to break the habit of a lifetime.


	7. Chapter 7

If there was a heaven, then this was most definitely it. Laying back in one of the big, well-padded chairs feeling sleepy and comfortably stuffed and watching his mother out of half-closed eyes. She looked happy, he thought. Genuinely happy in a way that he hadn't seen for years. He'd put her through too much worry for her to really chill, at least they had that in common.

The reason for her happiness was even better. He'd managed to persuade his father to come out with them both. It hadn't been an easy job at all, but Peter was nothing if not persistent and he knew that if he just kept on at him, it would take about five minutes until Erik would have agreed to sing 'I'm a Little Teapot' in front of the whole school before he had to listen to another second of Peter's wheedling. He'd even let them choose some upmarket restaurant, the kind of place he wouldn't usually be seen dead in, just for the sake of getting them in a room together and watching them not fight.

It had been pretty awkward, admitting to them both that he'd booked in with a psychiatrist to work some stuff out, but surprisingly they'd both been happy about it. In fact they'd given each other a look that Peter thought signalled a kind of understanding between them which he hadn't thought possible. Weirder still to tell Angie that her Dad was actually there to see him the day he'd showed up, even though she too had given him a warm hug and told him she was proud of him. And of course, opening up to her father about exactly what he was letting into his family had been weirdest of all. But he'd taken it pretty well, been professional about the idea of a self-harming, chronically anxious emotional wreck with a tendency to abuse prescription drugs dating his daughter.

Even Erik had admitted he was proud, and that had made his Mom smile and reach as if she was going to hug them both. That was bizarre, but it was cool too. It had been good to see them both slowly relax from making polite conversation into talking naturally, finding the common ground they shared and realising that really they didn't have to hate one another. As long as you didn't get onto the subject of Human-Mutant relations, Erik could be a pretty good conversationalist. By the end of the evening they had been comfortable sitting closer together, exchanging that little smile every time Peter was particularly cute about something.

He was pretty sure his mother was saying something, but it seemed very unimportant just at that moment. It had been a long day after all.

"He's fine," Erik was saying, "He does this all the time"

Magda laughed, shook her head kindly, watched her son's eyes close and his chin drop onto his chest.

"It's good to see him sleep. He never used to for days at a time. I'm glad he's doing better now"

"You must have had the patience of a saint," Erik told her. She smiled again at him. He could get used to that smile.

"We did well, you know Erik. We've got a good boy there – and you're a good father now. It would have been nice for us to have had that before, but at least you're here now. He's better off for that" she paused, looked shyly down at her hands, "I think I am too. It helps to have someone to share the worry with me. Even if he doesn't need me to worry as much as he did"

"He'll always need that," Erik told her, "It stops him worrying so much too"

"I don't know why," Magda began wistfully, "But I just thought of this time when he was twelve and I was sure he'd run away or got himself into some kind of trouble. I always used to worry that one day he'd just take off and we wouldn't see him again. We'd gone to one of Wanda's swimming competitions, I didn't know if it was all that wise to bring him – that was when he was really feeling ill and having trouble sleeping, I think he'd been awake for about a week straight and he looked like crap, but he insisted he wanted to come watch his sister. Everything was fine until I went to get Wanda after she was done, and couldn't find Peter anywhere – we looked all over, but he'd just vanished. I was terrified"

"And had he run away?" Erik looked concerned, until Magda laughed and went on

"Eventually we went back to the car, hoping he'd show up at home, planning to call the cops if he didn't, and there was Peter curled up in the back seat. He'd finally got too tired to stay awake and gone for a nap without telling anyone. I was too relieved that he was getting some rest to even be mad about it"

Erik laughed outright at that, picturing a sleepy little pre-teen curled up. He still sucked his thumb sometimes when he slept, and that was the image he had of his grown-up son just at that moment. At the sound of laughter, Peter opened one eye at him, peering sleepily and suspiciously.

"Wha's s'funny?" he asked. Erik patted him kindly on the head.

"Do you think we should get him home?" Magda asked, "I can carry him, if he won't walk out"

"I'm sure he can manage, Magda. He's tough enough"

"Yes," she smiled softly, "Yes he is."


End file.
